


I Am With You. Always.

by reellifejaneway



Series: Dragon Age: One-Shots [14]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Drabble, F/M, Post-Finale, Regret, Romantic Fluff, Tumblr Ask Box Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-14
Updated: 2015-03-14
Packaged: 2018-03-17 19:13:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3540839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reellifejaneway/pseuds/reellifejaneway
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Following the events of Act 3, Kathea Hawke is now left to face her next great burden: becoming the Viscount of Kirkwall. But no amount of jewellery or finery can truly conceal her past. On the eve of her coronation, Hawke turns to Fenris for some last-minute reassurance.</p><p>A fluffy one-shot based on a Tumblr ask-box prompt. Fenris and the world of Thedas belong to Bioware. Kathea Hawke belongs to me. I'm just a fangirl who can't let go...</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Am With You. Always.

**Author's Note:**

> Based on the tumblr ask-box challenge "send me a prompt and I'll write you a drabble".  
> Prompted by dragonoriiiin: #14 "Hey, I'm with you, okay? Always."

Hawke stared at her reflection in the tarnished glass, biting her lip anxiously.

She hated being fussed over.

Hands tugged at the curls in her hair, others pulled at the long cape that now draped across her broad shoulders. She didn’t even know herself anymore. The woman who gazed back at her through the silver mirror was a stranger: a noble’s daughter, a woman of power and grace – not a retired mercenary, and certainly not the refugee who had fled Lothering ten years before.

“Oh leave it alone,” she finally protested, shrugging herself free of the fastidious attendants around her. “Please, it looks fine. Leave me. I need a few minutes to myself before the ceremony.”

“As you wish, messere.”

Hawke waited until the door to her chamber clicked shut behind them before allowing her mask to fall away. Gone was the placid face, the empty nonchalance in her eyes. Now her composure broke, her shoulders shuddering with the silent tears that now threatened to burst forth. She didn’t dare cry. It wasn’t natural for her to shed tears, not even in private. The only times she had ever fallen apart before had been when she had lost Carver... Her mother... Anders...

The memories flooded back, twisting in her gut like one of the daggers she had so skilfully wielded. The daggers that hadn’t been fast enough to save her brother or mother – and the very same daggers that had ended the life of her friend.

 _Never enough,_ she cursed silently, bracing her arms against the dresser. _It was never enough._

A sob escaped her, catching in her throat. Kathea forced her head back up, tried to pretend nothing was wrong – if she couldn’t fool herself, then who could she fool?

_How can I do this now? How can I possibly be enough for Kirkwall?_

“Hawke, you are such an idiot,” she told herself, giving her pale cheeks one last pinch. “You can do this. Deep breaths. Walk like a lady. When in doubt, just smile. Don’t make jokes. Don’t swear. And definitely do _not_ make eye contact with Seneschal Bran.”

Shaking hands smoothed down the bodice of her dress, her critical golden eyes inspecting her figure solemnly. The gown that she wore was brand new – sewn especially for the ceremony. It was a simple enough silhouette: a floor-length garment cut from what must have been some very _expensive_ sapphire blue velvet. The colour selection was perfect, highlighting the peach undertones of her freckled skin and the claw-like tattoo which curled in cobalt ink across her right eye. The neckline was a deep v, coming to a point just above the curve of her breasts, before falling into a gently sweeping waistline. The dress hugged at her hips, a subtle sweep of fabric tucked up on either side of her waist to emphasise the length of her torso. The sleeves were cut straight and simple, a thin ring of gold allowing the velvet to come all the way down to her wrist before tapering to a point at her middle finger. A gilded chain hung about her curved hips, sapphires and diamonds glistening from their settings. Her feet, which only just peeked out from beneath the long skirt, were clad in gold slippers – uncomfortable perhaps, but certainly a beautiful touch.

The gown itself paled in comparison to the imposing cape that trailed along the floor behind her. It was also deep blue, the heavy brocade embroidered with her family’s crest in thin gold thread. The collar stood tall around her long, slender throat, the edges lined with long feathers that framed her rich auburn curls magnificently. At the front, a matching sapphire and diamond clasp held the heavy garment in place. The final touch was a simple gold circlet – a thin band of unadorned metal that nestled among her wild red hair, cold against her forehead, a reminder of the burdens to come. Her costume was extravagant to Hawke’s inexpert eyes. Perhaps not as ridiculous or as grand as an Orlesian ball gown, but it was a far cry from the rogue’s well-worn leathers.

Her mother would have been proud.

Kathea Hawke was no longer the usurper, the ‘Ferelden Dog’ that had fought for her place among Kirkwall’s nobility. She _was_ Kirkwall’s nobility.

She was the Viscount.

Or at least, she would be if she could survive this damned coronation ceremony.

Letting her head – now aching with the weight her heavily adorned hair – fall forward, Kathea reminded herself to breathe.

“Oh Mother, I wish you were here to see this.”

_Then again, it’s probably a good thing she’s not here to see me trip over my gown and make a fool of myself in front of Kirkwall’s elite._

Tears spilled over her lashes, and Kathea swiped at her cheeks hurriedly. “Oh blast,” she cursed softly, noting the smudge of sapphire eye-shadow that came away on her palm. She quickly corrected her blunder, smoothing a tiny amount of powder across her freckled skin to cover the faux pas.

 _Stop panicking. Just breathe_.

A knock sounded on her door then, and Kathea jumped.

“Enter?” She hurriedly straightened, smoothing the front of her dress for the tenth time.

The door creaked, a sliver of light shining in from the foyer beyond. “Hawke?” A deep voice – a familiar voice – sounded, and instantly she relaxed.

Picking up her skirts in one hand, Hawke swept toward the door. “Come in. Quickly, Fenris, before they see you.”

The white-haired elf slipped through the gap, bolting the lock behind him. It was then that she noticed his attire – an elegant black tunic that hung open halfway to his waist, leather gloves and breeches, a jade sash at his narrow waist and silver sandals on his feet. Hawke gaped in awe. Fenris was striking no matter what he wore, but this? He looked _spectacular._ Elf or no, the ladies would be fawning over him tonight. She smirked at the thought of how happy she would be to prove to them all that this was her lover, her husband-to-be.

A rare smile danced upon Fenris’ lips as he took her in. “You... You look magnificent,” Fenris murmured softly, tilting his head down ever so slightly. Olive eyes glinted at her from beneath thick, black brows. It was his way of showing deference, admiration. And he knew it made Kathea’s heart beat just that little bit faster whenever he did it.

“Flatterer,” Hawke returned with a grin, reaching out to him with one slender hand. “I can barely move in this thing.” She indicated at the cloak, “And to think they will expect me to dance with half the noblemen in the Free Marches.” She grimaced.

Fenris laced his fingers with hers. “You will be spectacular, Kathy. You are the Champion of Kirkwall, Hawke – they are already in awe of you.”

“I wish they weren’t. It makes the pressure that much worse.”

The elf let out a deep chuckle. “I apologise. I do not seem to be helping.”

The redhead sighed, “I’m not helping myself much either.” Resting her forehead against his, she gently braced her palms against the front of his silk tunic. “Tell me that I’m doing the right thing, Fenris.”

“I would tell you if you were not,” he returned softly.

“I know... I just need to hear it.”

“Very well.” Fenris cupped her chin in his palm. “You have made the right decision, my love. You always have.”

Kathea sighed, resting her head against his shoulder. “Thank you, Fenris. Maker, I’m so tired and the party hasn’t even begun.”

“I will remain by your side all night if you ask it of me.”

She looked up at him through wide hazel eyes then. “I should hope so – I wouldn’t want to have to deal with these pompous nobles without my loyal, glowing elf.”

Fenris gave her a smouldering glare. “Those simpering nobles had better be prepared to lose their hearts before they lay a hand on you.”

Hawke couldn’t help but smile. She had been trying to teach Fenris how to make jokes for _years_ now, and it seemed that he had finally caught on. “Just make sure you don’t ruin the carpet.”

Tilting her chin up, he pressed his lips to hers softly, relishing the small moan that escaped her at his touch. Hawke slid her arms around his neck, winding her fingers through his thick, silvery hair. She deepened their kiss, barely even noticing when another knock sounded at her door.

“Serrah Hawke? Knight-Captain Cullen and Guardsman Donnic have arrived. They said to tell you that your entourage is waiting to escort you to the Viscount’s Keep whenever you are ready.”

Kathea sighed, reluctantly pulling away from Fenris and his enticing mouth. “I’ll be down in a moment, Orana.” Her brows knit together in frustration. “I don’t want to go parade myself before some fancy assembly. It feels wrong. Like I’m stealing somebody else’s victory.”

“Well, it wouldn’t be the first thing you stole.” Fenris brushed her lips fleetingly with his, pressing her hand to his heart.

The action was so unexpected, so tender, that Kathea’s knees nearly gave out. Instead, she simply allowed herself to rest against him, absorbing a little of his strength. For a few moments they remained, basking in the firelight and the presence of the other. The rest of the world could wait a little while longer.

When Fenris finally decided to relinquish her, Kathea reached out to straighten his shirt. “Well I suppose we had better go down before the Knight-Captain himself comes marching in to find us.” Her worried eyes, shining brilliant amber in the firelight, sought out Fenris’ olive ones. “Walk with me?”

The elf nodded, taking her hand in his and escorting her onto the landing. “Hey,” Fenris whispered, pulling her back to him possessively one last time, despite the expectant eyes that gazed upon them from the foyer below. “Know that I’m with you, okay?”

Kathea stood on her toes and kissed the tip of his nose tenderly. “Always?”

“Always.”


End file.
